


Lost In The Wilderness

by Center_of_the_Galaxy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, John Winchester Being an Asshole, Protective Dean Winchester, Witches, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:46:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26958292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Center_of_the_Galaxy/pseuds/Center_of_the_Galaxy
Summary: Sam awakens bleeding in the basement of a building that he's never seen before. That's the least of his problems.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 50





	Lost In The Wilderness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sakarrie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakarrie/gifts).



> Written as the 1st prize in my 200 followers on Tumblr giveaway!

Blood seeps through his shirt, the green fabric growing darker as the liquid stains it red. Sam winces as he applies pressure on it, tears stinging his eyes. He’s only 14—he doesn’t belong in this situation nor does he even know how to handle it. He has to steady his breathing, keeping it quiet lest his captors hear him. He doesn’t even remember how he ended up in the basement of this creepy house anyways, with its dirt floors and flickering lighting.

The door opens, creaking filling the air and Sam presses himself further into the corner of the wall, hoping that he’s got enough cover blocking him from view. The footsteps are soft coming down the stairs, their noise stopping abruptly. 

“Hello?” A soft voice calls out, hesitant and quiet. “You are safe. You can come out.” 

Hands gripping him, pulling him away from his brother’s safe grasp, Dean calling out, his voice sharp and clear. Pain, blinding and torturous and then darkness. 

A sharp intake of breath gives him away as a young teenage girl kneels before him, her amber eyes glowing with curiosity. She smiles ruefully, “It’s okay. I’m not what you think.” She frowns as she sees the wound, “I’m sorry.” 

“Where am I?” He stutters. 

“Shhh,” She places a finger to her lips, “They’ll hear you.” He can hear the floor beds creaking above, hard footfalls up on the main floor. 

“Who—?”

“Marjorie!” A shrill voice calls out, “Come back here at once! You must return!” 

Marjorie frowns, her peach lips thinning and her brow furrowing. She gets up quietly, meeting Sam’s gaze with a determined flash. Softly, she insists, “I will get you out of here.” 

And then she’s gone, rushing up the stairs, locking the door behind her. 

Sam doesn’t know what to think—isn’t sure how to process what’s going on—but everything hurts and he’s cold and his father and brother are nowhere to be seen. 

“Dean.” His voice comes out as a whimper, but he won’t cry. He has to be a hunter now—be strong and resourceful, just like his father is always saying.

He’s a Winchester. He won’t give up and lose to fear. He’ll power through.

Somehow. Someway.

48 hours ago— 

Dean wanted to be anywhere but here.

“Sammy—”

“No.” His little brother retorted sharply, his gaze never moving from John’s stern face, their father’s glare burning a hole in Dean’s head. John wanted him to intervene, to calm Sam, just like he had every time his little brother stepped out of line. 

Dean was the only one who could soothe the unruly teen but even now, as the days bled into months, it was growing harder and harder. Dean’s words couldn’t reach him as easily as they did before. Instead of accepting his lot in life, Sam just kept pushing, testing the boundaries and setting new ones, much to John’s growing dismay.

“Sam—” John growled. 

“I’m not doing it,” Sam replied defiantly, “I have school tomorrow.” 

John chuckled, “You won’t be at that school tomorrow. We won’t even be in this state tomorrow.” 

Sam glared, his frown growing deeper on his face. He may only be 12, but Sam had a stubbornness more akin to that of a fully-grown man, set in his ways. 

“Sammy—” Dean tried to interject once more, but a sharp glare from his father cut off his voice. 

“You will do as I say,” John hissed, “And that’s final.” 

But Dean could tell from Sam’s stony expression that it wasn’t the end. Not by a longshot. 

Now—

Everything hurt.

From the top of his head to the very bottom of his feet, Sam could hardly process all the pain that kept flaring up in his body. His lungs felt tight, every breath feeling like molasses coming down his throat. Still, he manages to move and with as much stealth as he can, make it up the basement steps. He opens the door slowly, careful not to let a squeaky hinge give him away. He checks the hallway, a faint light coming from another room in the house. Faint voices echo in the room, though Sam cannot make out any words. 

A hand grips him from behind and Sam tugs sharply. 

“Shh,” Marjorie’s face swims before him, a finger on her lips, “This way.” 

He doesn’t know why he should trust her, but his brain aches and he has no idea how to escape or even where he is. 

“Who—?” 

She shakes her head, dismissing his question. The house feels more like a maze, though Sam wonders if that is because of the dizziness plaguing him. Her hand is the only warm thing he can feel and his blood drips onto the wooden floor, leaving a trail of bloody breadcrumbs for their pursuers to follow. 

“Here.” 

She pushes open a door and a blast of cold air hits him, a slap against his broken body. She wraps an arm around his waist and half carries, half drags him away from the house, to the dense forest that surrounds it. 

“Who are you?” 

She smiles sadly, her eyes downcast, “Not who,” she insists, “Rather what am I.” 

And that’s when her eyes flash a bright crimson. 

24 Hours Ago—

John got his way in the end, as he always did. 

Dean watched as Sam moved behind him, his lips a thin line and his eyes shining with displeasure. He didn’t want to be here and for once, Dean couldn’t disagree with him. This job—hunting down a group of witches living in the woods—seemed almost a waste of time. The witches, at least from what Dean had heard, had done nothing harmful towards the people that lived in the town by them. If anything, the witches may have been responsible for the small blessings that occurred—a found cat here, a great crop there. 

Still, John believed that anything inhuman must die. 

Dean couldn’t very much fault him for that. 

“I’ll talk to Dad.” 

His brother sighed, “It won’t do anything, Dean.” Sam held his gun by his side, clearly upset. 

“I can try,” Dean insisted, wishing that he could do more, have more power to make his brother happy.

“Try,” Sam repeated softly, “We all try.” 

Dean wasn’t sure how to respond. He couldn’t blame his little brother for his distrust. 

“Sam—”

He felt his feet stop, a jolt of electricity almost running down his spine. 

“Dean, there!” 

It all happened fast then. A coven of witches surrounded them and Sam was ripped away, his baby brother screaming out for him, while Dean could only stand there and watch, his body bewitched by sinister magic. 

And then, it was all over, Sammy’s blood staining the snow a sick crimson. 

Now— 

“A witch,” He breathes softly, as she lets him kneel against a tree, “You’re a—”

Marjorie bends down, a rueful smile playing on her lips, “An apprentice.” Her fingers glow bright blue, brushing by the bloody gash he received in his kidnapping. It tingles as her magic touches it, the wound slowly closing, pain soothing. “I can’t do much more than this.” 

“Why are you helping me?” 

“We’re not bad witches,” She insists, “But your father has decided to make us so.” 

Sam can understand why. John views anything other than human as an enemy that must be destroyed. Once he found out something, he wouldn’t stop until the monsters were dead and burned. 

“Your brother and father are near,” She tells him softly, “I hope that once they find you here, they will leave us alone.” She glances back, her eyes stinging with tears as if she could hear a voice on the wind.

Sam grips her hand, “Wait!” 

Marjorie frowns, “They’re calling for me. You will be safe.” 

“Sammy!” 

Sam looks away, following his brother’s voice, and when he turns back, Marjorie is gone. 

“Sam!” 

“Sammy!” 

Dean is before him now, his warm hands on his face, a reassuring smile conflicting with his worried eyes. John is there too, but Sam can’t hear his voice. The world tilts and begins to spin once   
more, his family’s faces blurring into a colorful mess. 

Then nothing more than darkness. 

One Hour Ago—

Dean pointed the gun at the young girl’s face, her crimson eyes sparkling. 

“Where is my brother?” 

She’s no normal human, no 12-year-old child like she appeared. She stood before him, serene, calm, unblinking. 

“He is waiting for you.” 

“What did you do to him, witch?” 

“What did we do to you?” She cried out, “We were on our own. We did nothing to you or that town!” 

“You took my brother! You hurt him! You and your coven!” 

“And now your father is trying to kill my coven!” Tears rolled down her face, “Must death be my fate too?” 

He steadied his hand on the gun, readied to fire the bullet. There could be no mercy for creatures like this. John had taught him well, had told him what to expect. Witches couldn’t be good. 

He lowered the gun, “Go.” 

And with another gust of wind, she was gone. 

Now—

He wakes up in a hospital, the steady rhythm of a heartrate monitor and Dean’s warm hand in his. John sleeps on the chair dragged to his bedside, his father’s rest fitful. 

“Hey, Sammy.” Dean whispers, smiling. 

Sam glances down, his chest wrapped in cloth, no blood in sight. 

“Marjorie?” 

“Who?” Dean questions. 

Sam sighs, frowning, the pain meds making him loopy. He glances once more at his older brother. Softly, “The witches?” 

Dean waits a moment, then replies, “Gone. Like the wind. No trace of them.” 

He spared them. 

Sam grins, “Thank you.” 

“Just sleep, Sammy.” 

For once, Sam does as he’s told.


End file.
